A Place Named Home
by kim-onka
Summary: She was glad to be the one to help him. But often she would think that was really not enough, not compared to who he was to her. She looked after him a long time and she knew, without a doubt she knew he would come back; he always did. Ed/Winry. PleaseR


Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and all its characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa-sama.

Spoiler warning: This story may contain spoilers up to chapter… 71, I think it is.

Please read, enjoy and review.

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_Every time I see your face  
Every time you look my way  
It's like it all falls into place  
Everything feels right  
Ever since you walked away  
You left my life in disarray  
All I want is one more day  
It's all I need: one more day with you_

Simple Plan, "Everytime"

She could recall the times when he'd always been around, here or there, when they'd been laughing together, all three of them. But those times were long gone.

Now, she hardly ever knew where he was after he'd disappeared, once more disappeared into the rest of the world that wasn't home, that wasn't any of the places that held their laughter. She missed him, missed them both and the mirth of the days of the past. Apparently, a letter was too much to ask of them, and so she was left to imagine and wonder; and what she imagined didn't always hearten her, yet she fought to believe in them and believe in him as the monotonous stream of everyday life flew around her.

Then suddenly he was there again, if only for a while but there - and it was she whom he needed. He would come to her, or call her, his mechanic, whenever he required reparation; she would get annoyed and reproach him, complain, and knock her wrench against his skull, being so relieved and so happy that he had come to her. For a little while, for a few days passing in a wink of an eye, their voices nearly echoed those of her memories. There were new tones, too: the tones that spoke of change, of loss, of determination and of hope, wordlessly spoke of how good it felt to be together in a place named home.

She was glad to be the one to help him, the one to give him a leg to stand on and a hand to hold out. But often she would think that was really not enough, not compared to who he was to her. With that leg, he wandered among people, places, and dangers she had no idea about; with that hand he shook, withdrew, and combated in a number of situations she had no knowledge about. If only, if only he told her, told her whatever it was that weighted on his mind, she would make sure to stand by him, to support him not only with her technique, but with all her might to retain the strength of his heart as he aimed at the fulfillment of his wish. She would even cry for him, sometimes, just because he never cried, however hard it all had to be.

He didn't say, though, and she recognised that he didn't say for exactly the same reason she had: that he cared. He cared for her too much to burden her with his troubles; then again, he cared for her too much not to tell her when she herself was in danger. It was so awful a feeling to be a worry, in fact merely a bit more than a nuisance to the ones she held dear. She hated to see that concerned expression on his features; and then she noticed, not without a surprise, that his golden eyes could be warm and gentle like the autumn sun.

He would run to her and ask her, beg her not to cry, not for him and not because of him, because it was that one drip more than he could handle, one tear too much for him to endure. As his left hand wiped it away, she realised that the leg on which he ran to her and the hand of his which embraced her were both works and gifts of hers, and that thought made her smile a little, only a little - yet his face seemed so relieved when he smiled back at her, ever so unsurely.

She could never cease being concerned about him, that she was sure of; but for his sake she suppressed the tears welling up in her eyes so that he wouldn't have to worry about her, so that he'd step ahead, constantly ahead. A promise not to cry anymore - that was her gift, while his gift, the equivalent exchange as he'd call it, was also a promise, a promise not to get killed.

When he left, she looked after him a long time and she knew, without a doubt she knew he would come back; he always did, for he needed her, her and the blissful laughter in a place named home.

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Author's Note

Just for a change, I'm with a canon pairing! A breakthrough indeed… Which simply proves Arakawa-san had better luck with choosing a canon pairing than some.

So you see that I simply need reviews to know how it was.

Also, I need an apple pie.

Please review, even if you're not a member, and we'll all be one bit happier :)


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